


This Sopping Melancholy

by Austennerdita2533



Category: Vicbourne - Fandom, Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Longing, mini-drabble, reflective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austennerdita2533/pseuds/Austennerdita2533
Summary: Victoria grapples with Lord Melbourne's announcement that he must step down as her Prime Minister. What will she do? How will she cope without her dearest companion? When will the pain fade?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This mini-drabble was inspired by a beautiful gif set I encountered on Tumblr from episode 1x02 (I attached the link in the quote below), which consequently flooded me with feelings and demanded that I write them out. It's my first attempt at Vicbourne so I hope you enjoy it. Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> xx Ashlee Bree

[ _"Do you love him?"_ ](http://ladyofglencairn.tumblr.com/post/157911973078/insp)

[ _"Yes."_ ](http://ladyofglencairn.tumblr.com/post/157911973078/insp)

[ _"How do you know?"_ ](http://ladyofglencairn.tumblr.com/post/157911973078/insp)

[_"Because nothing makes sense without him_."](http://ladyofglencairn.tumblr.com/post/157911973078/insp)

* * *

Tears _drip dip drip_ from the edges of her dark eyelashes to match rhythm with the _thunk thunk thunk_ of her heavy and sodden heart. Oh, how desolation drowns her in unbecoming pewter, the most putrid kind of dismay!

Victoria closes her eyes and reaches out—hoping her hand will catch him by the shirtsleeve before he leaves again, her fingers aching to curl into the cuff of fabric he’s always offered her like a pillow—desperate to keep him near because she can’t let go. _She won’t, she won’t_. She won’t let this man slip away like a dandelion fraying into fragments against the wind…not when her fingernails can dig in and claw hard into the wrist of He Who Has Become Too Dear To Lose.

He cannot resign. He cannot leave. He cannot forsake her, not if she decrees it as his Queen. 

_No, it shall not be, it shall not be! She forbids it!_

He’s always offered her a cushion. Something lovely that felt sturdy yet soft against her wet cheeks whenever she’s needed a bed of solace for her weary head or a warm blanket to cozy away her fears. He’s been the only one to dry her pain like a handkerchief. To fuel her strength like a candelabra burning defiantly all through the night. The only one with a touch that was as thoughtful as it was tender. And with a mind that was as full of wisdom as it was wonder. The only one to bandage the crippling loneliness which had punctured hole after hole in her chest for many years because no one took her seriously; because no one endeavored to try and understand.  He’s been the only person who listened. Who considered. Who cared. The one and only man who welcomed her opinion with a slight tilt of his head, that kind, encouraging smile forever steady on his lips; his ear attuned to every expression she chose to relate. He’s never failed to calm her, or to laugh at the little jokes she’s made.

Except…now he’s gone. No longer here. 

He’s retreated back to his solitary paradise at Brocket Hall, resigning himself to remain there. He’s followed his duties through to farewell (honor-bound to the last letter of the law) but has stolen every last one of her sprite smiles along the way only to replace them with torrential tsunami tears no other Prime Minister will be able to quell. 

He’s gone now—and everything wreaks of pummeling gray rain.

_What will she do, what will she do without him?_

_How will she bear it? How will she wave? Or dance? Or ride? How will she play fetch with Dash? Or find logic in something as awful as “goodbye?” How will she live inside this formidable royal prison without her dearest Lord M just there, standing by her side?_

_What will she do, what will she do without him now?_

As Victoria opens her eyes and grasps at the empty space now dangling between them in slowly widening distance, a throbbing splinter gashes deep into her lungs to pierce her open and leave her starving; her soul panting and pleading for the air of him she still craves to breathe. She calls out, but since his absence tastes more of wintry bluster and chunks of ice the farther he moves away, it clatters her teeth. Muffling her screams. 

The chill descends like an avalanche. It suffocates her beneath strong and paralyzing feeling, each new and painful throng in her breast filling her fuller with the same bruising, bleeding words she knows still leak from her face:

 “ _I miss him.”_

_“I need him.”_

_“I love him.”_

There’s no mistaking this insufferable, unquenchable longing. There’s no appeasing this pervasive affection knotted in loops of hopeless melancholy. It’s how Victoria knows, right then, just as her Mama presses two consoling lips against her forehead, that her eyes would never dry because her heart will never stop crying out for him…

_For her beloved Lord M_.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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